


Polnareff Fights the Duolingo Bird

by scaristars



Category: Duolingo - Fandom, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, Eldritch, Gen, I Didn't Even Know There Were Duolingo Tags Until Now, One Shot, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 12:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19394242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaristars/pseuds/scaristars
Summary: Before heading off to meet Bruno and friends in Rome, Polnareff discovers that it's time to pay his Italian language teacher.





	Polnareff Fights the Duolingo Bird

When the dust cleared, Polnareff saw the arms of his assailant. Clutched in one’s grasp was an old-time revolver. The other one held a pair of reading glasses, something befitting a man whose shrewd frame was barely able to handle the revolver’s knockback. A bullet, a .44 magnum full-metal jacket, was lodged in the rough floorboards, where it had split the wood around it. Polnareff thought himself very lucky that it was the floor it had split and not him in his fractured state. Moments ago, an Italian language tutorial book, heavy and thick with numerous yellowed pages, had fallen to the floor. Its unremarkable cardstock cover was horribly bent. The smoke was still hot off Silver Chariot’s rapier when Polnareff closed his laptop and spoke to his would-be murderer.

“Tretorta di Latte,” he scoffed. “So now I know where you finally stand. I thought it was too convenient that a language teacher would roam the French countryside, but I needed you.”

di Latte did not move, but Polnareff swore he could see his head throb underneath his tawny hair. Silver Chariot swiped at the air. “Hey!” Polnareff shouted.

_ “Who do you work for?” _

di Latte’s head throbbed. He could feel his veins pulsate. He had learned to live with it eons ago, especially after seeing photos of what some of his former colleagues became after DIO’s death in 1989. A little neurodegeneration was a small price to pay for the power he had received, and the riches too, however temporary they had proved to be. However, it was not a price he paid in a neat lump sum - his condition worsened in some way each time his head convulsed so badly

He could feel  _ something  _ let go this time around, but he couldn’t figure out what. This had been happening more frequently in the past week he had spent with the Frenchman.  _ Whatever _ , he thought.  _ I should have expected this dumbass to have a Stand, considering he survived  _ that _ man. Does he know about mine…? _

He dropped the revolver, trying not to flinch when he heard it  _ thud _ on the floor. It was the only thing that could reliably defend him in his backwater wandering, as his Stand did not have the power to kill. He turned around to face Polnareff, smiling with his rust-colored lips. “Oh! You must be just like me,” he said. “I’ve never met anyone with such strange powers as you or I.”

Polnareff frowned. He asked, “Really now?” He relaxed his hands a bit, but they did not return to the laptop like di Latte hoped he would. He also did not withdraw his Stand, the strange swordsman. di Latte would have to think fast.

He nodded and smiled even wider. “Of course! How do you think I’ve been teaching you Italian so well? I hope you’ve been noticing.” Polnareff’s expression did not falter. “I only  _ thought _ I had to kill you because, well, before all this strange power business, I thought you resembled someone I have a grudge against.” He was telling the truth, in a certain kind of way. He had recognized Polnareff from his days working for DIO, when he and the rest of his agents, located all over the world, would receive photos of the men (and dog) most dangerous to their mission. Hell, Jean Pierre Polnareff and Noriaki Kakyoin were considered brutish traitors, even if they had served only because they were brainwashed. It suddenly occurred to di Latte that there was something that he should never, ever mention to Polnareff, but he didn’t remember what. He didn’t care.

_ All that time, stumbling across Europe, living day-to-day off the skin of the land like some tramp, and I finally meet you! _ di Latte thought. His grin was genuine now.  _ Such good fortune that I have my Stand! And such good fortune that I happened to stumble into your room while you were making that call on your laptop, too. _

“Who is it that you have a grudge against?” Polnareff asked. He finally put his hands back on the laptop. His Stand retreated a few centimeters.

“He looked a lot like you. Please, can you put your laptop back on your desk? There was a very distinctive elbow movement he made when moving things.”

Polnareff started lifting his computer.

_ You dumbass! I bet you haven't learned a thing since '89!  _ di Latte almost laughed, but he kept a firm face.  _ Once I kill you, I’ll take your laptop and find out who this Diavolo guy is. He’s sure to pay me handsomely if he doesn’t want the likes of you around. Maybe he’ll even find a cure for the flesh bud in my brain. _

“Wait,” Polnareff said, and he stopped lifting. His elbows hadn’t even left his sides yet. He looked di Latte in the eye. “Just what did this man do?”

Without hesitation or thought, the Italian teacher replied with a smoothness that nearly stunned him. It was almost as if he was telling the truth. He watched Polnareff’s face contort and immediately regretted it as the words slipped out, “He killed my sister and left her body to rot in the countryside. I’ve been searching for her murderer ever since.”

Polnareff was silent for a moment. Just a moment too long for di Latte to be comfortable with. He swore at himself for messing up. He was still being watched and he had neither the laptop nor his revolver at his disposal. The Frenchman finally said, “You bastard. I’ve seen your Stand.” The metal swordsman pointed his blade at di Latte, who now flinched. He could see his own reflection in the steel.

Polnareff continued, “It’s the biggest, greenest, ugliest fucking bird I’ve ever seen in my life. Have fun teaching in Hell.”

_ Duo _ , di Latte thought - a mental cry to arms. Polnareff looked around as a human voice suddenly emanated from beyond the walls, and his Stand withdrew. di Latte took his revolver and ran.

_ “Polnareff… pensavi davvero di potermi sfuggire?” _

Polnareff had not heard that voice in a long time. He almost thought it impossible. He had been certain that Diavolo, along with the rest of society, had presumed his death. He couldn’t even call himself a dead man walking. Yet, it was due to this that he had been able to live in relative peace and isolation at a French farming village for the past two years, during which he was able to compile as much data on Passione as possible from his computer. Not even a full minute had passed since he terminated the call with Bruno Bucciarati. He wondered if the mafia boss really could work that quickly. If it wasn’t him, then maybe it was one of his subordinates. Maybe being so close to the French-Italian border had something to do with it.

He had to get his final hope to Bruno, no matter what.

He bolted from the abandoned farmhouse he had been staying at onto the dirt road. Rome was much too far off for him to activate the arrow. It wouldn’t have a hair of a chance of reaching Bruno. He hadn’t even told him anything yet. The plan for now would be to somehow outpace Diavolo by using Silver Chariot to propel his wheelchair to the nearest train station where he would get on the next train to Milan. There, he would be able to take a train to Rome. Hopefully, he would avoid interception by Diavolo or his henchmen.

The dirt road soon led to a humble rope bridge some considerable distance above a brackish river where the waters ran white and deep, disguising the knife-like rocks below. Over the years, Polnareff had heard many a tale about unlucky kids who fell in while playing close by, never to be seen again. While it certainly wasn’t the only way to cross the gorge, it was the closest one. Silver Chariot began to fly his wheelchair over it. However, a shot pierced through the air, ringing dangerously close to Polnareff’s ear. Silver Chariot dropped the wheelchair onto the bridge. It lurched side-to-side as both Polnareff and his Stand scanned their surroundings.

His Stand deflected about five more bullets before the shooter emerged from the trees. di Latte stood out immensely from the forest foliage when he was not hiding behind a tree trunk. Polnareff watched him pull up his thigh-high tartan boots which had bunched down to below his knees. It occurred to him that the voice he heard earlier was probably di Latte’s doing. There was no way a scrawny thing like him could possibly be the same person who mauled him years ago. Instead, he possessed some other danger. di Latte started approaching.

_ Where the hell is that bird? _ Polnareff thought. There had to be a reason why di Latte emerged from hiding. Losers like him only did that for three reasons, and three reasons only. The first reason was that they realized that they’d lose the fight so they started begging for mercy.  _ Not likely _ .  _ I’m in a vulnerable position right now and he hasn’t even told me what his Stand can really do, if he even feels like doing that.  _ Reason two - they wanted to come clean and have a fair fight.  _ That is definitely not happening! He would have brought out his Stand in clear sight _ . Therefore, by process of elimination, it was reason three - the enemy had become overconfident in their abilities and would almost certainly kill him soon. Very rarely had this gone well for Polnareff.  _ Still, I can’t give up now. My final hope isn’t  _ really _ final - I just need to find another one for these precious few moments. _

di Latte was only a few steps away from the bridge. His hand grasped a box of ammo cartridges poking out from his pocket, while his other hand was still occupied with his smoking revolver. “Hold on there,” Polnareff said. “You take one step on this bridge, and my Chariot will slice you to smithereens!” Silver Chariot slashed at the air for effect while Polnareff examined the forest canopy with his good eye. He saw nothing.  _ Dammit _ , he thought. He looked back at di Latte, who was only one footstep away from being on the bridge. One wouldn’t be enough. Polnareff would need many more.  _ This is my hope _ , he thought.  _ This has to be it, no matter what he’s planning.  _ He wheeled deeper into the bridge, taking wary note of each bump he encountered.

di Latte stepped not once, but twice. Now both his feet were on the bridge.“You asked for it,” Polnareff said, wheeling back as di Latte continued to saunter forward. “Now you get to taste the steel of my Silver Chario-” He bumped into something, or rather, some _ one _ . It spoke to him with a voice from another ghost he hadn’t heard from in a long time. Bewildered, he looked at the reflection in Silver Chariot’s armor.  _ That’s… _ He glared at di Latte, who just shrugged.

“Now,” he said before Polnareff could accuse him of anything, “I don’t know what voice or voices my Duo has been talking to you in, but I guess they must be very important to you.”

Polnareff had rarely seen Duo come out before, but he would never forget its appearance. It took the form of a decrepit owl whose ragged feathers shifted between various tones of green ranging from gangrene to neon. It was a hulk of a specimen whose massive weight brought the bridge bowing towards the center. During his time hosting di Latte in exchange for Italian language lessons, he had mainly seen hints of it, like vomit-green feathers scattered in mysterious places, parrotlike echoes in the dark, and the occasional smell of burnt electronics combined with toxic rot. He saw it fully manifest itself when its user seemed to be at his most frustrated, when he was most willing to use… physical coercion to get Polnareff to speak a word of goddamn Italian. Paradoxically, its presence was perhaps why he was able to learn the language within a week, enough for him to converse with Bruno entirely in Italian. Either way, it had been a struggle to not point it out.

Polnareff saw its sharp beak glisten as it repeated itself in that same voice. He cursed it for being able to imitate Jotaro Kujo so well, and in Japanese, too.

_ “Kimi wa koko de nani o shite iru no? Shinda to omotte imashita.” _

Tretorta di Latte had been telling the truth about his Stand. He had no idea what kind of voice Duo used to prey on its victims - he didn’t even know what it had said to Polnareff just now. He didn’t know an ounce of Japanese.

At least he thought so.

He put a gloved hand up to his forehead since it was throbbing again. He could feel something else go, something slipping, something _ essential. _ He got the feeling again that killing Polnareff would immensely help him. What would he do afterward? Well, provided that Polnareff’s body didn’t fall into the river or his bag didn’t get destroyed or his laptop wasn’t secured with a bomb or anything, he had a pretty good hunch about whatever it was Polnareff was hiding. There also had to be a good reason why he lived so secretively, so remote from what di Latte considered the finest cities in Europe. Oh yeah. It had something to do with that guy.

_ What was his name again? Something with a D... _

_ I’ll find out soon _ , he thought as he reloaded his gun. When he looked back at Polnareff, he was surprised to find that his back was turned to him. It seemed that Duo had launched a fierce attack on Polnareff, prompting Silver Chariot to parry each attack in what must be mounting desperation. He would certainly die soon, and di Latte hadn’t even noticed. He didn’t even care. Maybe if Polnareff had bothered to have a little heart-to-heart conversation with him as his final companion right before death, and maybe if he actually understood Japanese to know what Duo said just now,  _ maybe _ he would feel sympathy. Guilt. Maybe. He didn’t feel like putting in the effort to contemplate these things. He was getting tired.

He pointed the revolver at Polnareff, who was still watching his Stand defend against Duo. He weighed the gun in his hand, noting that it felt heavier than before, even with only one cartridge in the barrel.  _ Is Polnareff winning? _ He ignored the thought. He couldn’t afford to hesitate, even for less than a fraction of a moment. It was dumbass against dumbass. He closed one eye and proceeded to aim for the back of Polnareff’s throat. If the shot didn’t lodge right, he would choke on his own blood rather than attract anyone nearby with his screams. A tiny smile drew across di Latte’s lips. It wouldn’t damage the laptop bag by his side, either.

_ He fired the shot. _

_ Everything changed in an instant. _

Blood gurgled out of Tretorta di Latte’s mouth. His hand fell limp, dropping his revolver. Everything felt like it was falling. He glanced down and saw Silver Chariot’s blade poking out of his ribcage, staining his coat red. He screamed for what seemed like eons. What came out were only gargling, repugnant bubbles of viscera that he could taste. The putrid notes of bile and rusting iron set his brain on fire. He saw that Polnareff was actually  _ above _ him on the other side of the gorge, and he realized that yes, everything  _ was _ falling. The world was quickly leaving him behind.

Summoning a superhuman strength that he had never and would never experience again, he jumped further out into the gorge, barely making it onto the last portion of rope railing. He, finding himself more animal than man at this point, struggled to pull himself up the rope back to safety. A smug-faced Polnareff watched from above. di Latte hissed, gurgled, and spat horrendously up into the air in hopes that the flecks of blood would land on him, somehow afflicting a violently miserable disease. His head felt lighter than before, but the throbbing continued and  _ became _ continuous until it engulfed what was left of him. “I… You…” He choked out.

Polnareff laughed. “The bullet bounced off, dumbass! Did you forget my Chariot was fast? It was right there to deflect the bullet right into your guts.”

di Latte became aware of another foreign feeling in his torso, below the rapier. His grip on the rope slackened.

“And after that, Chariot threw the sword so it would cut the bridge off on the other end. And guess what? That  _ also _ bounced off. From the rocks, and right into your guts,  _ again! _ Your Stand may look and sound scary, but it’s really the same as any other.”

_ Duo! _ di Latte called out to his Stand, but it did not appear.  _ Where did it go? _ A strange thought came to mind, one of wings flapping somewhere across the sea. He tried to scream again.

“Or am I wrong? It’s different,” Polnareff said. “It vanished into thin air when the bullet landed, instead of sticking around. It’s a coward. It won’t be here to protect you when I slice you into smithereens.” Silver Chariot began pulling up the rope, bringing di Latte ever closer. He began to kick in desperation, nearly flinging off his boots. When he got to bridge level, Chariot held him up over the river, its free hand grasped around the rapier handle. It was still lodged in di Latte’s ribcage. “Now then,” Polnareff said. “You can either die swiftly by my blade or take your chances with the river below. Just tell me who you work for.”

di Latte squirmed. His head pulsated, following a beat even faster than that of his heart. He groaned in pain as he tried to think. “D-D-Duh…”  _ Shit!  _ He thought.  _ What was it? What was his name? Duo? Diavolo? di Latte?  _ Polnareff frowned, inciting further panic.  _ My head hurts so much… Wait! I remember now! It was- _

“I actually feel sorry for you,” Polnareff said. “But I can’t risk someone like you spreading word that I’m on the move. You can talk all you want about me in Hell.”

Tretorta di Latte, aged thirty years old, former lackey of DIO, ignorant omniglot, was thrown up into the air.

_ Silver Chariot’s blade pierced di Latte’s forehead. _

A conglomeration of flesh and tissue burst forth from di Latte’s cranium, busting the skull wide open, spewing a mass of bloody organs and detached eyeballs into the air. The initial conglomeration, a mass of uniform peachy matter with veins running along its surface, nearly instantly turned brittle and crumbled into the river. Chariot withdrew in disgust, letting the now headless body fall into the river. “Eugh,” Polnareff said. “I don’t know what was up with that man, but I’m glad none of that got on me.” He checked his wristwatch. “It’s about time I need to leave for Rome too.”

He looked back on the broken bridge he was leaving behind, and sighed. If this turned out to be his last day in France, he certainly wouldn’t want it to end like this.  _ But if this is the price I have to pay. then so be it _ , he thought.  _ I’ve already lost everything except my final hope. And that’s the one and only thing I must not lose, if Bruno and his allies are to defeat Diavolo and begin some semblance of justice. _

He thought of the silly happenstances that had occurred today, the ones that brought him to a momentary pause each time.  _ I’m glad it wasn’t 1989 me who encountered that Stand - things would have turned out different. What an oddity. Where did it go? I won’t be able to sleep knowing that thing’s still out there somewhere. _

Eventually, Polnareff found the main road. It was a quiet avenue compared to the trendy streets of his bustling hometown. Nonetheless, he was able to catch a ride from a friendly driver to the nearest train station. Getting there was without incident, and so was boarding the train. After ignoring the passengers who gave him strange looks, he saw no harm in trying to take a nap on the train. He was getting off at the last stop, anyway. He eventually dozed off, dreaming of the stars. It was a place where it seemed like his tired body could finally locate refuge, and there, memories and dream-figures would re-enact themselves as if penned by new luminaries. When he got to Milan, while he was waiting to transfer to a Rome-bound train, he found himself hungering for those dream sensations, even the illusory ones. It was like grasping at corpses of the past and of what could be.


End file.
